Murder by Proxy [Edna Davies 02] Page 7

  “Oh, if you run into Wendy Fuller, say hi for me, will you? She was my supervisor.”

  “Wendy Fuller,” Edna repeated, committing the name to memory, as she slipped into her coat. “I'll do that.” She opened the front door, gave Karissa a little wave and said, “You'll probably enjoy having the house to yourself for a while.”

  Karissa buried her face behind the magazine but not before Edna saw the corners of her lips curving upwards.

  Twenty minutes later Edna pulled the Celica into a parking space marked Visitor in front of a three-story building that did indeed seem to be built of glass. Gleaming in the sunlight, the windows appeared almost fluid, like water in a clear pond. She approached tall double doors and pulled one open with surprising ease, finding herself in a large room with a high ceiling and ahead of her, a waist-high semicircular receptionist's counter. Grant, partly turned toward the front doors with one hip perched on the wooden structure, was talking to the young woman seated behind the desk. He turned and straightened as Edna strode across the marble floor of the lobby.

  “Be back in an hour, Nina,” he called over his shoulder as he took Edna's elbow and escorted her back the way she had come. “We can walk to the restaurant, if you're up for it. It's only a couple blocks away.”

  Temperatures were in the mid-sixties, but with no wind blowing the air felt warmer. Dry heat, she thought, enjoying the feel of the sun on her back as she listened and responded to Grant's small talk.

  Weggies was a bustling place where customers stood in line to order sandwiches, soups and salads. The few people ahead of them moved forward quickly, and before she could read any of the overhead signs listing menu items, Edna was greeted by a cashier in a white polo shirt with the restaurant's logo emblazoned on the breast pocket.

  “What'll you have?” he asked in a cheerful baritone.

  She was accustomed to sit-down-and-be-served eateries where she could spend time looking over the menu, but she decided the service line was very practical and efficient for busy working people who needed to get back to an office. However, at that moment, she felt rushed with the young man drumming his fingers on the counter and a line of people backing up behind her.

  “I think you'd like the turkey with tomato, avocado and lettuce.” Grant came to her rescue, and at her nod, he ordered and paid for both of them. As her son put his arm around her shoulders and walked her forward, she wondered if a more relaxed atmosphere might be easier on the digestion.

  By the time they reached the end of the long, cafeteria-style food line, their sandwiches were waiting on bright orange trays. Grant picked them both up, led her to a line of beverage dispensing machines, filled two large plastic glasses with water, then motioned her to a small table near the middle of the busy room.

  She was glad to sit down but still felt harried and a little breathless. She waited in silence while Grant put their plates and glasses on the table and handed their trays to a passing busboy. Mother and son were silent until they had taken the first bites of their sandwiches. Slightly more relaxed, she finally sat back in her chair. “I think Karissa's a lovely girl,” she said, opening the topic carefully.

  Grant eyed her over his chicken-breast-on-Kaiser-roll, a slight look of surprise on his face. “Thank you, Mother. I think she's pretty special myself.” He grinned.

  Edna smiled back. “You've never told me how you two met.”

  His grin faded but didn't disappear. It made him look sad for a moment. “I guess we've needed this talk.”

  “I … ” she began, but he held up a hand, palm toward her.

  “Please, let me finish first,” he said. “I'd like you to understand, and I'm sorry I haven't been brave enough to bring up the subject myself.” He looked sheepish for an instant before continuing. “I know you loved Michele very much, and I did, too,” he hurried to add. Staring off to one side, he seemed unaware of others around them. “Actually, I didn't realize how much until she was gone.”

  “Then, why …” Edna began, but he stopped her again with a raised hand.

  “Why marry Karissa? Or why marry so soon after Michele's accident?”

  She wondered why he hesitated before uttering the word accident. What had he been about to say if not accident? His voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “I won't lie to you, Mother. Michele and I had grown apart. She was so … so … headstrong,” he finally blurted out. “She wasn't a restful person, not like Karissa. Not at all gentle or understanding.” He looked down at the remainder of his chicken sandwich and pushed the plate away. “I think if it hadn't been for Jillian, Michele and I would have split years ago. I do miss her but more like an old friend than a wife.”

  Folding his arms on the table and leaning forward, keeping his voice low, he said, “I know Michele wasn't totally to blame. I was at fault, too. I think I was too tame for her. She had a wild, reckless streak. I think that's what first attracted me to her, but it's also what started to come between us.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I thought she would settle down a little when Jillian came along, but she didn't. I liked staying at home, but she always wanted to go out. I work long hours sometimes, and she wasn't happy about that. Nothing seemed to be working for us anymore. I don't even know when things really started to fall apart.”

  “Were you seeing Karissa before …” Edna couldn't quite get the right words out.

  “You mean, did I cheat on Michele? No. Never.” His gaze was steady, and Edna felt he was telling the truth. “Karissa and I ate together in the lunch room at the office.” His lips twitched and his eyes lit up. “That's about as blatant and intimate as our relationship got. Sometimes we were the only ones in there because we ate later than everyone else. She filled in on the switchboard at noon, so sometimes she wouldn't have lunch until after one. Most of the time, I forget about eating until I need another cup of coffee. We started talking one afternoon.” His eyes dropped to the tabletop as he was obviously caught up in his memories.

  After a moment's pause, he looked up, and his eyes were serious. “When her mother was dying of cancer, Karissa became involved with a local support group and still spends a lot of time helping families of cancer patients learn to cope with the disease. Losing her mother hit her hard. They were very close.”

  Edna watched various emotions play across her son's face as he spoke of his wife and realized what a strong and responsible man this child of hers had become. She waited patiently for him to continue.

  He smiled as he went on. “I don't know what she sees in me, but the more I got to know her, the more attracted I became until finally I wanted to be around her all the time. She's a good person and so interested in everything, and she's always wanted children, lots of children. I don't think Michele really thought about it one way or the other. To her, it was something young couples did. They had children.” At that moment he must have seen the look of surprise on her face, because he put his hand out as if to steady her.

  “Oh, I don't mean to say she didn't love Jillian. She did, and she was a good mother. I guess the difference is that Michele didn't want to stay home and be a full-time wife and mother, not like Karissa … or you,” he finished with a weak grin. The look in his eyes pleaded with her to understand.

  Edna couldn't help a small chuckle at what she took to be her son's belated attempt at flattery. “I think I know what you're trying to say.” She reached across the small square table to pat his arm. “How long have you known Karissa?”

  “About two years. She started working in the accounting department at Office Plus early last year. I enjoyed her company a lot, but I hadn't even thought about asking her out. Then, suddenly Michele was gone, and I was spending every non-working moment at home with Jillian. We were both trying to cope with the sudden loss.” He drained his water glass and put it aside, running a finger in the ring of condensation it had left on the tabletop. After a moment of silence he sat back abruptly in his chair and said, “Actually, it was Anita who brought Karissa and me togethe
r eventually.”

  Edna was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Anita asked me to help her with the company's New Year's party. I wouldn't have gone, what with Michele's funeral only three weeks before, but Rice was called out of town unexpectedly and so was Marcie. Anita had already volunteered to organize the big company-sponsored event. She needed someone to help with the awards ceremony. Since several of the people in my department were receiving commendations, she asked me to fill in. The gala event was held downtown at the Convention Center.” He waggled his eyebrows as if to let Edna know how impressive that was.

  She didn't feel like smiling at his antics. She was still confused. “I thought Anita was Michele's best friend. Didn't she realize you'd still be mourning? Wasn't she mourning herself?”

  Grant shrugged and went on, ignoring the questions. “Jillian was going to a friend's for a sleep-over, so Anita probably thought I shouldn't be alone on New Year's Eve. She's a big one for celebrating holidays, and I was still so numb, I didn't care what I did.”

  “I take it Karissa was also at the party.”

  “Yes, she was.” His grin broadened as he studied the tabletop and lost himself for a minute in the memory. “She was beautiful. We danced a lot that night.” Then he shook himself, as if suddenly aware he had been talking too much. “End of story, or the start of it, I guess you might say.”

  “What did Jillian think when you were married so soon after her mother died?”

  “I wanted Jillian to have a mother.” His eyes seemed to plead for understanding before he sat back again and explained further. “I couldn't take care of her by myself. Besides, she and Karissa hit it off right away. I don't think she minded at all having another female around.”

  Edna realized she was letting an opportunity slip by to find out more about the mystery woman. “And Anita? Was she pleased about the wedding, too?”

  Grant lifted his arm, making a small production of looking at his watch. “Gosh, look at the time. I really should be getting back to the office.”

  He stood, picked up the debris from the table and headed toward a lidded trashcan near the front door. She hurried after him. The walk back to the office was silent, and she sensed a barrier had gone up between them again. Why didn’t he want to talk about Anita, she wondered. Something had to be wrong.

  As they approached the building, Grant said, “Would you like a tour of the place? I have some time to show you around, but it'll have to be quick.”

  “Yes, I'd like that.” She had thought for a panicky moment that he might make an excuse and renege on his promise to show her the office. If he wouldn't talk to her about Anita, she needed to find someone who would. Just how she would go about it, she had no idea, but she hoped something would come to mind.

  Grant opened the front door and she preceded him into the lobby, recognizing the person behind the desk as the gushing redhead to whom she had been introduced at the funeral the day before.

  “Peter wants to see you,” the woman said to Grant, handing him several pink message slips.

  He turned to Edna, “Peter's head of our finance department. This shouldn't take long. You remember Brea, don't you?”

  “Of course,” Edna said, thankful to her son for reminding her of the young woman's name.

  “Then, if you'll wait here, I'll be back shortly.”

  There were no inside doors visible to the room. Behind the receptionist's area stood a tall, curved partition with the company name and logo in big white letters against a bluish-gray background. It looked as though the ends of the partition, if moved forward, would form a giant oval with the edges of the reception counter. Grant walked around and disappeared behind the freestanding structure.

  “Nice to see you again,” Edna said, wondering how well Brea and Anita had known each other.

  “Yeah,” Brea replied. Pursing her lips into a pout that she apparently thought was becoming, she pulled at a strand of hair.

  Edna speculated on how much time the young woman might spend making such short hair look so messy. She tried again to make pleasant chatter while she waited. “What a lovely big office you have.” She gestured at the sun-lit lobby.

  Brea frowned and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “This isn't my desk. The receptionist is late.” She picked up a sheaf of papers and tamped them on the desk before wedging them into a blue file folder. “When I get my promotion, I won't be sitting out here at all.” She gave Edna a self-satisfied smile. “Won't be long now, I can tell you that.”

  Only when Edna saw the woman sulk, did she remember that Brea had been introduced as Rice Ryan's secretary. Or was it administrative assistant? Realizing Brea needed little if any encouragement to talk, Edna prompted, “Oh? Congratulations. What will you be doing?”

  Before Brea could answer, another young woman stepped out from behind the partition. She was plump with straight, shoulder-length brown hair and wore a tailored green shirt tucked into loose-fitting tan trousers. “Oh,” she said, seeming startled. “Isn't Nina back yet?”

  “Obviously not,” Brea retorted, not looking at her co-worker.

  “Well, I've got the new bus passes. She needs to have people sign for them. When will she be back?”

  “You can leave them here. I'll see she gets your message.” Brea's tone was haughty and she barely looked at the other woman as she patted the desk beside her.

  The woman laid a large manila envelope on the edge of the desk and turned to disappear as quickly as she had arrived. As soon as her co-worker was out of sight, Brea snatched up the envelope, opened it and dumped several passes out onto the surface of the desk. Rummaging for a minute, she put one aside and returned the rest.

  “How nice to be able to take a bus to work,” Edna said, pretending not to notice that Brea hadn't signed the accompanying list. She didn't want to antagonize a possible source of information about Anita.

  “Yeah, it's okay. I catch it in the morning, but Rice usually drives me home at night.” She flicked her eyes toward Edna, seemingly to discover how she was responding to this news.

  Edna, remembering that Rice was still married to Anita, merely said, “He sounds like a thoughtful boss.”

  Brea began to tap the eraser end of a pencil against the desk in a constant, monotonous rhythm. “Pretty much. We work late a lot. He's always driving me home. Says he doesn't want me falling asleep at the wheel.” She gave Edna another sly glance from beneath half-closed eyelids. “My car was getting left here overnight a lot, so I told Rice he had to authorize a company bus pass for me.” She shrugged, continuing to drum on the desk.

  Nervous habit, Edna thought, and was wondering why Brea should be so jittery when another young woman appeared from behind the partition. Edna recognized the short black curls and lovely blue eyes of the receptionist Grant had been talking to when she'd first arrived.

  “About time.” Brea rose abruptly, tossing aside the pencil and picking up the blue folder.

  “Three minutes late,” the receptionist retorted, wrinkling her nose behind Brea's back.

  “I have better things to do than sit here waiting for you to get back from lunch. Rice doesn't like my being away from my desk.”

  “Where is Rice today?”

  Startled by a voice close behind her, Edna spun around to see another of the women she had been introduced to the day before, recognizing her as Marcie James, Anita's supervisor.

  Brea responded with an air of importance. “He's out making a presentation to some new clients.”

  “I'll just bet,” the woman mumbled so softly that Edna, standing beside her, was apparently the only one who had heard.

  Marcie began leafing through a stack of pink message slips on the counter and spoke to Brea without looking at her. “Will he be around tomorrow? I need to see him about some accounts. I told him yesterday I wanted to meet with him.”

  “I'll let you know.” Brea turned, chin jutting forward, and disappeared behind the partition.

  Marcie, taking severa
l of the messages and putting the rest back, spoke to the receptionist. “Will he be in the restaurant at the Omni tomorrow?”

  Nina nodded. “Eleven to two, as usual. I haven't heard he won't be, and since I make all the out-of-town arrangements, I know he hasn't got a trip planned.”

  “Good. Maybe I'll catch him there. Now I know why he makes himself available off site. It's for those of us who can't get past his gatekeeper.” She fluttered a hand in the direction Brea had just taken.

  Both women laughed softly and Marcie turned, catching Edna's eye. She frowned a minute before brightening. “You're Grant's mother, aren't you? Edna.”

  “How nice of you to remember my name.”

  Marcie's smile brought a dimple to one cheek. “Actually, yours is easy for me. Edna was my grandmother's middle name. I like old-fashioned names.” She looked around. “Does Grant know you're here?”

  “Yes. We had lunch together.” Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see that she had been in the lobby for almost twenty minutes. “He had to see someone named Peter, then he was going to come right back and give me a tour of your offices.”

  “That would be Peter White, our CFO, Grant's boss.” Marcie made a face. “If he's not back yet, he'll probably be a while.” Pausing briefly, she looked at Edna as if making up her mind about something. Then she said as if on an impulse, “If you've got a minute, I'd like to speak with you.”

  Not quite believing her good fortune at this chance encounter with Anita's boss, Edna was quick to respond. “Certainly.”

  Marcie linked her arm through Edna's. “Come on, then. Why don't we go to my office? It's lots more comfortable than out here.” Over her shoulder, she said, “Nina, when Grant gets back, tell him I've kidnapped his mother, will you, please?”

  Eight

  “I get the impression that Brea is very protective of Rice,” Edna said, hoping to continue the gossipy mood. Smelling mint on Marcie's breath when she got closer, Edna wondered if the woman had had a sip or two of wine or something stronger with lunch. If so, perhaps she would be talkative.